


He Walked In Through The Out Door

by HeckinaHandbasket



Series: Baby, you’re much too fast [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy Hargrove Needs a Hug, Gen, Good Parent Joyce Byers, Good Sibling Billy Hargrove, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Look he’s trying okay, Soft Billy Hargrove, Stranger Things 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:34:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24279673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeckinaHandbasket/pseuds/HeckinaHandbasket
Summary: The last thing Joyce Byers wanted to deal with today was a shoplifting teenager.
Relationships: Joyce Byers & Billy Hargrove
Series: Baby, you’re much too fast [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1864939
Comments: 23
Kudos: 360
Collections: Numerous OTPS Infinite Fandoms





	He Walked In Through The Out Door

**Author's Note:**

> This scenario came to me and wouldn’t leave so here you go. You deal with it.

The bell rang over the door, heavy footsteps tromping down the aisles.

Joyce glanced up to see a blonde young man who was only vaguely familiar. New in town. He went to school with Jonathan.

They weren’t friends, of course. Because Jonathan didn’t really have friends. He could, if anyone in this town was able to pull their heads out of their ass long enough to see what a special person he was.

High school was hell for him and she couldn’t see it being much better for Will. At least Will had a great group of friends. But there were other, more difficult things that Will was going to have to deal with that Jonathan never did.

God, she worried for her boys.

This boy disappeared down aisle three, hands in the pockets of his denim jacket as he cast bored eyes around the shelves.

He shouldn’t be here, it was nine in the morning on a Wednesday. He should be in class, kicking those motorcycle boots against some poor girl’s desk in an attempt to impress her.

Well, maybe his mom was sick or something and he was running errands for her. Whatever it was, it wasn’t any of Joyce’s business.

She had work to do.

She hefted the box of shampoo up onto her hip, lugging it to the back of the store to start restocking the shelves over in toiletries.

She looked up just in time to see the boy tuck something inside his jacket with a quick glance around the store.

Well, shit.

The last thing she wanted to deal with today was shoplifting teenagers.

Joyce ducked down, keeping her head low and hidden by the shelves as she rounded back to the front of the store, cutting him off when he made a beeline for the exit.

“Hi! Welcome to Melvald’s, how can I help you?”

He shrugged with one shoulder, keeping the other arm tight against his side where he was holding his stolen goods.

“Didn’t find anything. I was just leaving.”

She nodded, eyebrows raising as she pointed at the elbow tucked into his side over the lump in his jacket.

“Mmhmm. Were you gonna pay for that?”

He was fast, but she was faster. Scrappy wins over muscle if the timing is just right. This wasn’t her first time catching a kid with sticky fingers.

The boy yowled as she snagged him by the ear, pulling him down to her level.

A small cardboard box fell out of his jacket, skidding across the linoleum to rest against the base of the shelving unit behind him.

Joyce sighed and looked to see what it was, expecting either candy or condoms.

It was neither of those things.

He went rigid, sucking in air through his teeth as she saw the familiar packaging.

Tampax.

It was a box of goddamned Tampax, fresh spring scent.

She couldn’t help boggling at him as he jerked away, rubbing his ear.

“Did you grab the wrong box? You know what those are, right, kid?”

Temper flared across his face, so much like Lonnie that she took an involuntary step back. His hands fisted at his side, lip lifted in a snarl.

“Of course I know what they fucking are!”

She threw out her hands in a ’well, how should I know?’ gesture that didn’t look like it was getting through.

She dropped them down to her hips as she considered the box on the floor.

“Is this some kinda dare or something?”

The rage drained from his face as quickly as it had come, leaving tired eyes and a downturned mouth. She couldn’t decide if he was handsome or pretty, he had a kind of delicacy to his features that looked like it belonged in the movies.

“What? No! Look, forget it. I didn’t take anything else, see?”

He held his jacket open and did a spin in place to show his empty pockets.

She nodded, crossing behind him to pick up the box, now crumpled at one corner from its adventure. This was the top shelf stock, first type you see in the feminine hygiene aisle, she had put it there herself a couple of days ago. He must have grabbed the first box in the display.

He backed away, bitterness settling on his movie star face as he shoved his hands back in his pockets.

“So I’ll just fuck off and we’ll say this never happened, yeah?”

She held up the box, tapping the brand logo with her middle finger with a grin.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

He looked at it like it cost him something to leave it behind, like it mattered that he had failed to sneak it out. Mattered more than a dare.

Joyce started to get a bad feeling about the whole situation. She pointed at him with the box, inserting some maternal warmth into her voice like she was talking to one of Will’s friends.

“Hey, kid, uh. Listen, what’s your name?”

Suspicion crossed his face like a shifting cloud, shoulders lifting defensively as he shuffled closer to the door.

“Why do you want to know?”

Joyce rolled her eyes, shaking the Tampax impatiently. He watched her like he expected her to throw them at his head.

“Christ. Look, I’m not gonna call the cops over a box of tampons. Jim would just give me shit for it, anyway. What’s your name, honey? I’m Joyce Byers, I think you might know my son, Jonathan?”

He scuffed a boot heel across the linoleum, leaving a black streak she was going to have to mop up later. Boys really were all the same.

He had one of those modern haircuts that allowed his long blond curls to fall over his collar, but kept the rest out of his face as he tilted his head down to meet her eye.

“Billy.”

She smiled at him, nodding encouragingly as she tapped the box against her leg, trying to get a grip on this whole strange situation.

“Okay, well, it’s nice to meet you, Billy. Is there a reason you’re trying to steal tampons on a school day?”

It was like a dam broke, shoulders slumping as he dug his hands in hair that he obviously spent a lot of time on, eyes white-rimmed with panic.

“I’ve got a little sister. Step-sister. Max. She’s a pain in the ass, but, uh. So she’s on the rag or whatever, but I guess it’s never happened to her before and she’s freaking the fuck out back at our place. And her mom’s out of town and I can’t find where she keeps this kinda shit and she bled all over the damn couch and I don’t know what my dad’s gonna-”

He shut up tighter than a slamming door, clenching his teeth and looking like he regretted ever saying anything at all.

There was a fading bruise along the base of his jaw and the shadow of a black eye tracing the bridge of his nose.

And some things started making sense that Joyce really, really didn’t want to make sense.

Shit.

Those bruises were a language she was fluent in, and her boys weren’t, only because she had kicked his ass out before it ever came to that.

Thank god.

But this boy, this kid, he had a lot on his plate. He really looked like he could use a friendly face and a helping hand.

“So you need these? For your sister?”

He gave half a nod, eyes lifting to the ceiling as a muscle worked in his jaw. She watched him swallow his pride, avoiding her eyes. She had been in his shoes before, needing help and unable to ask for it. Fearing nothing so much as walking into her own house empty-handed.

He was quiet, angry defiance gone from his voice as he shrugged again with a hopeless glance at the box in her hands.

“I can’t pay for them. I spent my last dime on gas yesterday morning and Neil cleaned out my rainy day stash last week.”

She didn’t have to ask who Neil was, it was a flashing neon sign wrapped in barbed wire over Billy’s head.

She lowered her voice, edging closer as she laid a gentle hand on his elbow. That got his attention, sharp and considering on her face. She tried to keep her expression open and non-threatening.

“Okay, listen, honey. This one’ll be on me. But you don’t want these. How old is she?”

He acted like that was a ridiculous question, shrugging with his entire body as he shook his head incredulously.

“I don’t know. Twelve or something.”

Probably around Will’s age. Actually, hadn’t his friends mentioned a Max in their class? Or maybe it was at the arcade. She had assumed Max was a boy, but maybe they had been talking about a little girl. That would make sense, given how excited Will’s friends had been and how utterly bored Will had been.

That wasn’t going to get any easier for him anytime soon, poor sweet thing. She hoped he figured out why before too long.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Come on, I’ll grab you something that’ll work better for her.”

He followed her down the aisle reluctantly, head down and footsteps dragging. She smiled to herself as she imagined him sitting in his big noisy car outside of the store, psyching himself up to walk down the tampon aisle.

Bless his heart.

She fiddled with the crumpled corner, straightening it out a little before shelving the tampons and taking down a box of maxi pads.

She held them out, not letting go when he reached to take them until he met her eye, lifting his brow in question.

“She’ll want to use these at first instead of something insertable, less of a learning curve.”

The disgusted grimace on his face was so exaggerated that she had to laugh out loud while he hastily tucked the box away in his pocket.

He watched her throw back her head in laughter, his own face brightening as he moved a little bit closer.

“Thanks. Say, Mrs. Byers. Joyce. Can I call you Joyce?”

The smile on his face was practiced and seductive and fake as all get out. She couldn’t believe he was directing that shit her way. She bit her lips against a shocked giggle, reluctant to wound his fragile ego.

“Sure, Billy, that’s fine.”

He stepped in even closer, angling his broad shoulders so that his shirt gaped open at the chest, looking at her through thick, dark lashes as he bit his full lower lip.

She had to pinch herself to keep from laughing.

“You’re looking beautiful today, Joyce.”

She hadn’t showered in three days and there was oatmeal on her shirt, but okay, champ.

He reached out to trail the backs of his fingers down the side of her arm, wetting his lips with his tongue. Oh god, did that usually work for him? It was kind of gross. She tried not to wrinkle up her nose at the sight.

“I’m sure we could work out some way for me to pay you back for your generosity. You got a back room in this joint? Somewhere we could go for a nice, private talk? I’ve been told I’m a great conversationalist, Joyce.”

That seductive smile grew broader and sexier and just a little bit desperate and the laughter curdled in her chest.

Because someone, somewhere along the way, had taught this child that he needed to give sexual favors to adults for survival.

He was offering to fuck her in exchange for providing for his little sister’s basic needs, and Joyce’s heart was breaking.

Oh god, he was younger than Jonathan, a year behind him in school. Couldn’t be over 16, 17.

She felt sick to her stomach.

He slid his hand down to hold hers confidently between both of his. His hands were warm and strong, palms dry. Practiced at this in ways she just really didn’t want to think about anymore.

He leaned down, tugging her into his solid chest like a dance move.

There was only so much of this she could take. She was only human, after all.

She wrapped her arms around his ribs, holding him tightly against her.

He chuckled deep and dark and lowered his head to bring his lips to her neck. She ducked away, pressing her ear against his chest as she held on tightly to him.

He started to catch on that things weren’t going in the direction he was hoping for, back muscles stiffening beneath her hands.

“Mrs. Byers?”

His voice was higher, and sweeter, cracking with youth when he dropped the Barry Manilow act. He sounded confused, hands hovering over her waist like he wasn’t sure what to do with them.

“What are you doing?”

She patted his back with both hands, keeping her tone matter-of-fact.

“It’s called a hug, honey. You looked like you needed one.”

Moments passed as he relaxed by inches, taking a deep breath before clutching her so tightly that her feet lifted from the floor.

He stepped back after a couple of seconds, fussing with his hair and clearing his throat. His right hand slipped down to thumb at the pendant around his neck as he looked anywhere but her face.

“Thanks. For the favor. I owe you one.”

She was going to cry, she knew it. As soon as he left the store, she was going to sit down and cry. Probably crack into a snickers bar while she was at it.

She patted him on the arm, letting go with a squeeze before giving him as much space as she could in the narrow aisle.

“You don’t owe me a single thing, okay? And, listen. Billy. If you ever need something like this again you can just come by my house anytime.”

She gestured at the box in his pocket but they both knew what she was saying. They were both fluent in this. It was a language entirely spoken in words unsaid.

He nodded, and they both knew that he had no intentions of taking her up on the offer. He gave her one last smile, small and shy and real, before turning on his heel and walking away.

She called out to him as the bell rang over the door, remembering his worried face when he described the situation with the couch.

“Club soda! And ice water. To get the stains out.”

He looked back over his shoulder, leaning his head against the arm raised to hold open the door as he gave her a mock salute.

“I know how to treat blood stains on upholstery, Mrs. Byers. See you around.”

And she didn’t want to think about that. She really didn’t.

But it still kept her perched on her couch, cigarette butts crowding the ashtray on her coffee table until one in the morning.


End file.
